Browncoat Wars
by Darth Praxus
Summary: The crew of "Serenity" takes the place of key characters in the Star Wars universe. Mayhem ensues.
1. Dramatis Personae

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

_**SERENITY**_

MALCOLM REYNOLDS, also called MAL; human male; captain, _Serenity_

ZOE WASHBURNE; human female; first mate, _Serenity_

HOGAN WASHBURNE, also called WASH; human male; pilot, _Serenity_

JAYNE COBB; human male; public relations, _Serenity_

KAYWINNIT LEE FRYE, also called KAYLEE; human female; mechanic, _Serenity_

**ALLIANCE TO RESTORE INDEPENDENCE**

GENERAL JAN DODONNA; human male; base commander, Yavin IV

INARA SERRA; human female; companion

RAYMUS ANTILLES; human male; captain, _Tantive IV_

GARVEN DREIS; human male; squadron leader, Red Squadron

WEDGE ANTILLES; human male; pilot, Red Squadron

BIGGS DARKLIGHTER; human male; pilot, Red Squadron

JEK TONO PORKINS, also called PIGGY; human male; pilot, Red Squadron

C-3PO, also called THREEPIO; Cybot Galactica 3PO-class protocol droid; translator, _Tantive IV_

R2-D2, also called ARTOO; Industrial Automaton R2-class astromech droid; mechanic, _Tantive IV_

**GALACTIC EMPIRE**

GRAND MOFF WILHUFF TARKIN; human male; commander, _Death Star_

ADMIRAL CONAN ANTONIO MOTTI, also called ZI; human male; commander, _Death Star_

HIGH GENERAL CASSIO TAGGE; human male; commander, _Death Star_

DARTH VADER, formerly known as ANAKIN SKYWALKER; human male; Sith Lord

**TATOOINE**

OWEN LARS; human male; moisture farmer

BERU WHITESUN LARS; human female; moisture farmer

SIMON TAM; human male; fugitive

RIVER TAM; human female; fugitive

DERRIAL KENOBI, also called DERRIAL BOOK; human male; Shepherd

EVAZAN, also called THE DOCTOR; human male; fugitive

PONDA BABA; Aqualish male; fugitive

WUHER; human male; bartender, Chalmun's Cantina

**THE NISKA CORP.**

GREEDO, also called GREEDO THE YOUNGER; Rodian male; bounty hunter


	2. Prologue: 0 B B Y

**PROLOGUE: 0 B. B. Y.**

Here's how it is.

Earth-That-Was got used up, so we moved out, and terraformed and colonized a whole new galaxy of planets and moons. Some, rich and flush with the new technologies. Others, not so much. The Core Worlds, them as formed the Republic, grew stagnant and corrupt, and decided that all the other planets had to come under their rule.

There was some disagreement on that point.

After the war, the Republic became the hated Galactic Empire. While some of the Separatists who had fought and lost joined the growing Alliance to Restore Independence, many drifted to the Outer Rim and beyond, far from the Empire's reach. Out here, people struggle to get by with the most basic of technologies. A ship will bring you work, and a blaster will help you keep it. A captain's goal is simple: find a crew. Find a job.

Keep flying.


	3. Chapter One: Out of Gas

**I: OUT OF GAS**

_I did not_, Kaylee Frye decided, _join up for this._

When she'd agreed to work for Malcolm Reynolds, it had been mostly for the boat herself. _Serenity_ was a sweet girl to ride on, and a challenge to work on, which was her idea of the perfect ship. But somewhere in the back of her mind, the mechanic had been picturing the romantic images smuggling evoked: freedom, camaraderie, and hauling valuable cargo that resulted in a large profit for all parties involved.

Those images had most definitely _not_ included sitting around for hours on end in a stuffy bar that was built on the armpit of the 'Verse.

Chalmun's Cantina was _crowded_. Not just standing-in-a-small-room-with-a-bunch-of-people crowded, either. The place was frequented by numerous alien species—indeed, Chalmun, the owner, was a Wookiee. Take the body odor, pheromones, and other what-have-you of about fifty different intoxicated beings, ranging in physiology from reptile and insectoid, and throw it all into one small building, which is already located on a desert planet, and you had an instant formula for a sweltering, stifling, stinking atmosphere. Even Jayne had noticed the discomfort. He, Kaylee, and Zoe had been patronizing this place for near a week now, six hours a day, looking for prospective passengers willing to put up half in advance. No luck so far, and Kaylee's normally chipper outlook on life was slipping by the minute.

She sighed and gulped down the last of her juri juice. It was her third in the last hour, but the buzz she'd been looking forward to had been driven away by the band's tenth encore of "Mad About Me", the only gorram song they seemed to be able to play. Getting falling-down drunk would just add a hangover to her list of things to enjoy tomorrow, something Jayne had figured out a few days ago. He was now drowning his sorrows in games of holo-pool instead of Corellian whiskey.

"I could've been a Hutt's wife," Kaylee said to no one in particular, gazing around the dark, crowded bar.

"Hmm?" Zoe asked from across the table.

"A Hutt's wife." Kaylee, a bit more expansive than usual due to the juri juice, elaborated glumly. "Y'know how my daddy was working on Nal Hutta when the captain hired me? For Bulduura the Hutt? Well, Bulduura was an oddball, for his kind. Liked humans, 'stead of Hutts. He had about fifteen of 'em that he'd made his wives."

Zoe shuddered. "Those poor dears."

"Oh, no, it was _nice_. He liked 'em, big, see, so he'd take a skinny girl, and fatten her up 'fore he married her. Just have a ton of feasts and stuff her at each one. Then, when she was nice and round, he married her. He had his eye on me, 'fore I left." She sighed again and smiled dreamily. "Just imagine sitting in a luxurious, air-conditioned palace, all fat and lazy, nothing to do but eat, an' sleep, an'...and stay cool..."

Zoe looked at the mechanic suspiciously. "You're drunk."

"Well...a little." Kaylee giggled. At least the buzz was back.

"What's this about lil' Kaylee and some Hutt?" Jayne asked as he strode over from the billiards table and took a seat. Kaylee told the tale again. When she finished, Jayne frowned. "How're they supposed to consummate the marriage?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. It seemed like there was only ever one thing on the man's mind when he wasn't thinking about guns. "Hutts are hermaphrodites, Jayne. No male or female parts."

"Poor slugs," he said fervently. He took a pull of the whiskey in front of him, then grinned wickedly. "Y'know, though, I _can_ picture lil' Kaylee here as his girl. Double chin, pot belly, nice wide hips—"

Kaylee smacked his hand, but she was smiling. "I can see _you_ as one of his eunuch slaves."

"Whoa, you ran into a pot-bellied eunuch? Geez, I miss everything," a familiar voice complained from behind them.

Zoe smiled. "Hello, dear."

"We done for the day?" Kaylee inquired hopefully.

"Got the mule waiting outside, if the locals haven't stolen it yet," Hogan Washburne, known to his friends as "Wash", replied.

"Praise be," Jayne exclaimed. "I don't care what Mal says, today was the last day I sit in this ruttin' place for an afternoon."

"That's what you said yesterday," Wash pointed out as they strode out the door and into the Tatooine dusk.

"I mean it this time!"

"You said that last time, too," Kaylee noted. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the blast of cool night air hit her, and gazed at the expansive, open Mos Eisley streets

"We can't afford to stick around here much longer, anyway," Zoe said. "If we don't find some way to get that money back to Niska, we're worse than dead."

"Think it'll be the Sarlacc he uses, or the rancor?" Wash asked. "Personally, I'd take the Sarlacc. Immortality of sorts, at least, isn't it?"

"Though there is the part where you get slowly eaten alive by acid and have your essence absorbed," his wife remarked drily.

"Yeah, I don't really have the face for being all corpsified and gross," Wash conceded, clambering into the driver's side of the "mule"—really a five-man, open-cockpit, bright yellow landspeeder with a hold for some cargo—while the rest of them piled into the back. "You, Jayne?"

"If I'm gonna die, I want to be fightin' whatever it is that does me in. Least you can do that with the rancor. 'Sides, don't think I could take being holed up with you for a million years, Wash."

"Don't talk like that!" Kaylee told them. "No one's gonna die. The captain will get us a way out. He always does."

"Maybe he'll just send a bounty hunter after us," Jayne continued, ignoring the mechanic. "I could take Fett in a gunfight."

"You couldn't take _me_ in a gunfight, Jayne," Zoe replied. "And you're forgetting the jetpack, and the saberdarts, and the grenade launchers, and the flamethrower, and the knuckle blades. Man only carries a blaster to keep up appearances."

"Man's a pretender, if you ask me," Jayne argued. "Shouldn't need more'n one weapon, if he's any good."

"And how many different blasters do you have on your wall?"

The argument lasted all the way back to Docking Bay 94, where _Serenity_'s loading ramp was open, ready and waiting. The _Firefly _boat was a mite odd in appearance—she resembled the insect her class was named for—but Kaylee loved her all the same. The cargo hold certainly looked more inviting than the place she'd just left.

Wash skillfully maneuvered the mule up the ramp and into its usual parking spot. The captain strode down the stairs to meet the rest, brown duster swirling in the slight breeze. "No luck, then," he said by way of greeting, a frown on his lips.

"None, sir," Zoe replied grimly. "It would appear that Tatooine has finally run out of easy marks."

"Shiny." Mal blew out a frustrated breath and began to pace around the cargo hold. "How many more days can we afford to wait?"

"None, far as I'm concerned," Jayne grumbled. "Gorrammit, Mal, why don't you just take a job with Badger?"

"We don't want to work with him again."

"Why?"

"I seem to recall an incident involving blades, hostages, and punctured insides last time we took a job with him. I've no mind to get into another longsword duel anytime soon."

"Patience, maybe," Wash put in.

"Don't want to work with _her_ again, either," Zoe replied.

"Why?"

"She shot the captain, if you remember."

"Can't we just move on, forgive and forget?"

"She _shot_ him, dear."

"What about that Lando guy you worked with?" Kaylee asked. "Isn't he supposed to be all rich and famous now? He could loan you the money."

The captain shook his head. "We're not on speaking terms. No, we need a job _here_, and soon."

Zoe frowned. "I figure we can wait for passengers for maybe three more days. After that, we have to find some other sort of work."

"Best start winning some of those pool games while you're there, then, Jayne," Mal told his public relations expert. "At least then we'll have some sort of money."

It took a moment for Jayne to understand his captain's meaning. "So, wait. We're goin' back again tomorrow?"

"Zoe said three days, we wait three days."

"Gorrammit!" Jayne groaned. "That's not human, Mal!"

"Get over it," Mal replied. "We stay. End of discussion."

Jayne growled. "Fine! I'll be in my bunk." He strode off towards his room, muttering under his breath.

Kaylee stifled a yawn, and realized how exhausted she was. "I'm goin' to bed, too, Cap'n," she decided. "It tires a body out, sittin' in the heat all day. 'Night."

As the mechanic walked off, she heard Zoe and the captain talking. "Sir," the former said, "what are we going to do once those three days are up?"

The captain shook his head. "I don't rightly know. I'll think up some notion." He sighed. "It seems to me that fighting a war was a whole lot easier than this."

"If it were, we wouldn't have lost."

Kaylee was troubled as she slipped into her bunk. All this talk of Sarlaccs and rancors and bounty hunters had her worried. The captain had never failed to get them out of a scrape before, but wasn't there a first time for everything? Adlai Niska did not have a reputation for mercy.

She found herself struggling to keep her eyes open; the effects of the juri juice had combined with her sleepiness to form a potent mixture. _I can't think about this now_, she decided. _Captain'll think of something._

_ He always does._


	4. Chapter Two: Objects in Space

**II: OBJECTS IN SPACE**

_Tantive IV_ had eleven engines, engines that were among the fastest in their class. She possessed one of the fastest hyperdrive engines in the 'Verse, which was what had allowed her to get to Tatooine airspace so quickly. However, she was lacking in certain other key elements.

Her shielding was strong enough to stand up to cosmic radiation and incoming space junk, but not much else. The only weapons mounted on her hull were four low-power flash cannons, normally used for clearing debris from her path. While she could outrun an enemy, there was no way she could outgun, say, an _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer.

Darth Vader had, of course, been sure to bring one.

The _Devastator _possessed over a hundred different weapons, and it was making good use of them, bringing down _Tantive IV_'s shields with a withering ion cannon barrage, then crippling her drive with a hail of turbolaser fire. The other ship was putting up a token resistance, its rear-facing batteries firing helplessly back at the white, wedge-shaped behemoth behind it, and occasionally their blasts met Imperial blasts, lighting up the vacuum with bursts of colliding plasma. On another day, Vader might have taken mild interest in the light show.

Today, though, he had a score to settle.

"Are they in range of our tractor beam?" the cyborg Lord asked the captain of his flagship.

"They will be within moments, my lord," the officer replied.

"Excellent. Prepare a boarding party, and inform them that I will be joining them." The decision was a spur-of-the-moment one. Vader had not taken the field in a while. This mission would be an excellent one on which to remedy that problem.

"I shall inform them at once, my lord," the captain replied, executing a brisk salute. "And, if I may say so, congratulations on tracking them down. The Alliance will crumble after this, I have no doubt."

Normally, Vader would have bristled if an inferior officer had the nerve to "congratulate" his commander, but he let it go without a response. His artificial breathing function slightly quickening, the ebony-cloaked Sith Lord swept from the bridge to take stock of the boarding party.

— — — —

"Did you hear that?" See Threepio inquired of his friend and sometime counterpart, Artoo Detoo. The protocol droid had thought he'd be glad when the _Tantive IV_ ceased its violent shuddering, but now that it had, he found himself profoundly worried. "They've shut down the main reactor and the drive!" The shuddering began again, only faster and harder this time, and Threepio was thrown into the nearby wall, scuffing his golden finish. "Madness, this is madness!" he muttered to himself as he steadied himself. "We'll all be destroyed for sure!"

Artoo tootled a brief response, continuing to doggedly make his way down the thin, white corridor. "Well, yes, I suppose it was necessary to shut the drive down," Threepio replied, servomometers whining as he hurried after his little companion, "but I can't believe we're simply going to _surrender_! There'll be no escape for Mistress Inara this time."

As if to contradict the droid's outburst, a dozen humans, no uniforms to speak of save for various brown coats, each wearing a white helmet and carrying an antiquated blaster pistol sidearm, scrambled past, checking safeties and muttering a mix of prayers and curses. Threepio watched them for a moment, feeling an odd and very _organic_ fusion of both fear for himself and Artoo and admiration for the men about to give their lives to protect his mistress.

Artoo had stopped to watch also. The two friends, one squat and barrel-shaped, the other tall, golden, and bipedal, stared down the corridor at the airlock door. After a few moments, there came a most peculiar noise from the other side of the door. "Artoo, I think we had better be—"

The rest of Threepio's statement was lost as the edges of the door began to smoke, then burst into red flame, then exploded entirely. The Alliance men didn't wait for targets to appear out of the haze, but began firing immediately, red, green, and blue plasma streaming at the ruined door. There were screams and clattering, and Threepio felt a moment of relief. _Perhaps they can hold them off long enough that Mistress Inara can break free of—_

That thought, too, was lost to history, as the soldier closest to the door shrieked and went down, a gout of flame bursting from his chest. White-armored figures in full helmets began to charge through the breach, and Threepio really didn't want to be standing around in their range of fire when they ran out of Rebel targets. The protocol droid turned and ran—well, shuffled as fast as his metal legs could take him—back down the corridor towards the nearest door, Artoo in his wake.

— — — —

The two sides exchanged fire down the entire length of the ship. White-armored troopers went down, clutching at flaming chests; Alliance men, young and old, were blown apart by blasts from automatic rifles or miniature grenades. Amidst it all, the ship's droid crew scurried every which way, self-preservation programming on full blazing overload.

The Rebel men knew they were doomed. They fought like men who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, many not even bothering to take cover behind walls and crates. The Imperials used similar tactics, relying on their superior numbers to keep them safe. The Rebels were slowly being forced to the back of the ship.

Vader stepped aboard confidently, black cape contrasting sharply with the white interior of the captured vessel, one hand on his lightsaber in case of any surprise attacks. He strode down two lengths of corridor before being met by several of his boarding party, clustered around a brown-coated old man with a small insignia of a raptor taking flight over his breast pocket. "The captain, my lord," the officer in charge of the troops informed the Sith Lord.

Vader smiled beneath his mask, despite the pain it caused him. They were getting results, and fast. "Excellent." He stepped forward and looked down on the captain, who stared back defiantly. "Captain, the plans, if you please," Vader said smugly.

No reply.

"Where are the plans?"

"Captain Raymus Antilles, Serial Number THX-1—"

Vader reached for the man's throat and hauled him up into the air.

Slowly, enjoying the look of terror in the again captain's eyes, he began to squeeze. "Where are they, Captain?"

"Sir," a trooper informed him, "the plans are not in the main computer. We've combed everywhere."

"Where are those transmissions you intercepted? What have you done with those plans?" Vader was starting to get frustrated.

"We...ack...intercepted no...aargh...trans...missions...ack...this is...a con...sular ship..we're on...aargh...a _diplomatic mission_..."

"If this is a consular ship, where is the ambassador?" Vader growled, and squeezed harder. There was a popping, a great _crack_, and Raymus Antilles was no more than a bag of blood and bones. "Commander, tear this ship apart if you have to. Find those plans, and bring me the passengers, I want them alive!" This was not how he had hoped things would turn out. If the plans weren't in the computer mainframe, who knew where the flash drive that held them could be? They could search for months and never find it.

He would not be reporting failure to his master. The men would find the plans, and if they did not, they would die.

— — — —

"Artoo Detoo, where are you?"

Threepio was growing exasperated with his little companion. They'd taken a wrong turn somewhere near the middle of the ship, and Artoo had gone missing. Threepio, for no reason he could fathom—it certainly wasn't any _care_ he felt for the irksome astromech—had gone after him, and was now wandering the darkened chambers of the escape pod bays. He had no idea when an Imperial trooper would jump out and blast him, or if he'd get lost and fall into and engine, or who knew what else. "Artoo? If you don't come out _this instant—_"

There came a familiar tootling and beeping, and Artoo was in sight, trundling down the hall. "Thank goodness, where have you been?"

The astromech gave a noncommittal tootle that was his equivalent of a shrug. "Well, they're headed in this direction!" Threepio told him, angry at the little droid's attitude about the whole thing. Frightened, he asked, "What are we going to do? We'll be captured and sent to the spice mines of Kessel, or smashed into who knows what!"

Artoo's only reply was to start off down the hall again. "Wait a minute—where are you going? _I haven't finished with you yet_!"

Servomometers whining in protest, the protocol droid hurried after the utility droid, muttering complaints at a volume level equivalent to a human muttering under his breath. "Artoo, one day I'm really going to—hey, you're not permitted in there, it's restricted!" he cried. Artoo had stopped, and was working frantically with a small console with one of his many manipulator arms. "You'll be deactivated for sure!"

The door that the console was connected to popped open, and the little astromech forged ahead relentlessly. He was trying, Threepio realized, to get into an escape pod. "No, Artoo, the _organics_ need those! Our duty is to—don't you call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease! Now get out of there before somebody sees you!"

Artoo emitted a brief burst of static that left Threepio confounded. "Secret mission? _What _plans? What are you babbling about? I will _not_ get in there—"

A red burst of plasma struck the wall just above Threepio's head, and he realized belatedly just how far back the defenders had been forced as he and his counterpart had argued. He was suddenly faced with a stark choice—duty, or self-preservation. After a brief hesitation, he'd calculated his response. "Are you sure this thing is safe? Oh, I'm going to regret this," he spat as he clambered into the cramped pod and the door swung shut.

Latches unlatched, thrusters fired, and they were heading towards whatever planet lay below them.

— — — —

"Lord Vader, we have a prisoner."

Vader turned and followed the officer down the length of the ship, to where his quarry was waiting. When he arrived, he was greeted by a sight many men would have called beautiful.

It was the Companion, Vader realized. The ethereal beauty, the aristocratic bearing, the cleavage-bearing scarlet dress, all were familiar to him. "Inara Serra," he rumbled.

The girl responded haughtily. "Darth Vader. Only you could be so bold. The Guild won't stand for this. When they hear you've attacked a Companion's ship with no provocation—"

"Don't act so surprised, you weren't en route to business this time," Vader replied. "Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am a member of the Companion's Guild on my way to—"

"You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor. Take her away!"

"Holding her is dangerous," the officer told Vader after the troops had left with the Companion. "If word of this gets out, it could generate sympathy for the Browncoat movement in the Senate, and the Guild will be outraged."

"I have traced the spies to her. Now she is my only link to finding their base."

"She'll die before she tells you anything."

"Leave that to me," Vader replied, ending the conversation. "Send a distress signal, and inform the Senate that all aboard were killed by pirates."

"Lord Vader?" another officer asked, stepping down the corridor to meet his Lord. "Battle station plans are not in this ship, and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but it contained no life forms."

Now they were getting somewhere. "She must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander, there'll be no one to stop us this time."

An escape pod. Was she really that stupid? Once they found where it had touched down on the planet, it would all be over. Not that Vader was complaining.

Soon, the Alliance would be finished. The last remnants of those Vader had fought in the war would be gone.

He could at last get on with his life.


	5. Chapter Three: Cargo

**III: CARGO**

_A. N. Don't worry; I am NOT skipping Simon and River's backstory. It will be told in flashbacks later on._

— — — —

The old hermit arrived just in the nick.

After three days of sitting in the heat and losing pool games, Jayne was threatening mutiny, and Kaylee was half-convinced he meant it. "You know why you people lost the war?" he inquired of Zoe over their table. "Because people like _him—_" no need to ask who he was talking about—"don't have no good sense. If he did, we'd've been out of this ruttin' place three days ago and hauling cargo for someone somewheres. That's what I'd've done."

"Maybe if you took off the hat, it would help with the heat," Kaylee put in helpfully. "I mean, what's that thing made out of? Wool?"

"I think it looks cunnin'," Jayne Cobb countered. "And Wash agrees with me." Kaylee didn't quite have the heart to tell him Wash's exact meaning when he'd said that. Give her another hour or two in this place, though, and that might change.

"Shut up," the normally stoic Zoe told them suddenly. "New arrivals."

It was a group of five—well, three, really. In the lead was what looked to be an old desert hermit. His skin was brown, as were his robes, and his hair was a gray that was edging toward white. There was a strange air of dignity around him. Next were two droids, a blue astromech unit and a gold-plated protocol droid. Following them was a pair of teenagers. The boy was older, maybe in his twenties, pale and handsome, and looked thoroughly nervous. Clinging to his shoulder was a girl who was thin to the point of unhealthiness, and who looked less nervous and more downright scared. _Still a pretty little thing, though_, Kaylee thought. The boy appeared to be guiding her around the room, as though she couldn't walk on her own.

As the droids crossed the threshold, there was a buzzing, and Wuher launched into his usual rant about droids being on the premises. The hermit never broke stride. His eyes scanned the room, as if looking for someone very specific. "Funny-lookin' old man," Kaylee murmured.

"The kid looks like a queer," Jayne huffed, observing the teenagers as they moved to sit down at the bar. "And is that girl even allowed in here legal-wise?"

After a while, the old man glanced up, and locked eyes with Kaylee. The eyes were a soft brown color that she liked, and she smiled, gave a little wave. The hermit smiled in return, and, to Kaylee's delight, strode over in the trio's direction. "Hello there," he said, smiling kindly. "And who might you three be?"

Grinning like an idiot, Kaylee spoke for the group. "I'm Kaylee Frye, this is Zoe Washburne, and that's Jayne. You looking for passage?"

"Might be," the old man replied. "Name's Derrial Book. A pleasure." He looked over at Zoe. "Which ship are you captain of?"

"I'm first mate of _Serenity_, not the captain," she replied. "That..._honor_ goes to Malcolm Reynolds. Kaylee here is ship's engineer."

Book nodded. "Well, I'm looking for passage for five to the Mid Rim, and I could use a fast ship. What class is the S_erenity_?"

"_Firefly_-class, and it's just _Serenity_, sir," Kaylee told him. "She's the sweetest ride you'll ever have this side of the Mid Rim."

"Mmm." He ran his fingers through his beard. "Well, I might be—"

He broke off. "Excuse me for a moment." Derrial Book stood and strode from the table over towards the bar, where it appeared that a couple of aliens were exchanging certain words with the two teenagers who were in the hermit's charge.

"Y'just watch yerself! I've got the death warrant 'n twelve systems!" The first bleary-eyed denizen was jerking his pointer finger at the boy, but staring at the girl. Kaylee couldn't see the faces of the two humans, but she had a feeling they weren't smiling. "Oh, no," she moaned.

"Just when we're gettin' somewhere, too," Jayne growled. "That geezer's gonna get hisself kilt if he tries to argue with Evazan. He don't even have a gun."

"Then what's that on his hip?" Kaylee asked. She'd just noticed a small metal cylinder that was swinging from the old man's hip. "A glow rod?"

Book spoke. "This one's really too little for the effort. Now come on and let me get you something—"

Evazan screamed, and hurled the boy away from the bar. Wuher ducked behind the counter, perhaps to bring up the ion stunner he kept hidden there, and Jayne moved to draw one of his many blasters. Neither needed their sidearm.

Derrial Book was there first.

There was a flare of brilliant blue-white light, another scream from Evazan, this one much higher and longer, and then the other alien was staggering back, less one arm.

Kaylee became aware after a few seconds that her mouth was hanging open. She looked at Jayne, and saw that his was, as well. Even Zoe was startled. Book retracted the glowing blade of light after a few seconds, and went to haul the boy up. "You all right?"

"Yeah," the boy replied shakily, "I'm fine."

Jayne took a long pull on his drink. "Now _that_," he said, "was something you don't see every day."

— — — —

Mal and Wash pulled up at the cantina in the mule fifteen minutes later, sand swirling around them. After hearing his crew's story, Mal wasn't sure whether he was in a good mood or not. An old desert hermit who had somehow managed to get his hands on a gorram _lightsaber_?

"Didn't know there were any Jedi left," Wash commented during the drive to Chalmun's.

"He's not," Mal replied, eyes on the horizon. "Probably just stole it from somebody. What I'm wonderin' is where he picked up the kids and the two droids."

"Ooh, maybe we have a kidnapper on our hands."

"Who kidnaps two teenagers of different genders?"

"Maybe he doesn't mind which gender..."

Mal rolled his eyes. "Jayne's rubbin' off on you a mite too much, Washburne."

The two droids he'd been told of were standing outside the cantina when the mule pulled up. "Good afternoon," offered the protocol unit as Mal and Wash walked inside. The astromech whistled what might have been a greeting.

"Stow it, Goldenrod," Mal replied before brushing past the pair. "Get too friendly, you're apt to get stolen."

"Oh...I see, sir..."

Mal saw their possible passengers sitting at his crew's table, the hermit chatting with Jayne about something—boy, Mal wouldn't have expected _those_ two to hit it off—the two kids looking uncomfortable. The boy, Mal noticed, kept glancing over in Kaylee's direction. He'd definitely have to do something about _that_ if they were going to be traveling together. "Well, the prodigal sons have returned," Zoe noted as Mal and Wash pulled up some chairs.

Mal extended his hand to the hermit. "Malcolm Reynolds. I'm captain of _Serenity_. You are?

"Derrial Book," the hermit replied, taking the proffered hand. "These are Simon," he gestured at the boy, "and River. They're siblings, traveling with me."

"Prometheus was punished by the gods for giving the gift of knowledge to man," the girl, who had been staring into space a mere moment ago, said quietly. "He was cast into the bowels of the earth and pecked by birds."

Mal stared. "Was he, now? That's...very..." He shot a questioning look at the hermit, who sighed and shook his head.

"She's...ill," he told them. "But she'll be no trouble, I assure you."

"I'm less worried about _her_ than _you_," Mal replied. "I hear tell you pulled out a weapon hasn't been seen this side of the Mid Rim for near twenty years and done sliced a man's arm off. That ain't exactly untroublesome behavior, if you take my meaning."

Now it was the old man who looked uncomfortable. "It was self-defense. Those men had drawn their blasters."

"Don't get me wrong, Mr. Book, I have no problem with negotiatin' aggressively. It's just that a weapon like that," he continued, gesturing at the man's belt, "brings with it a hell of a lot of questions. Where'd you get that piece?"

"Bought it and its mate off a Jawa trader a few years back. I've a bit of a passion for history, you see, and a lightsaber is a rare find nowadays."

"Mate?" Mal asked. The boy, Simon, unclipped a metal cylinder from his belt and laid it on the table. Mal whistled. So the kid had one, too. "I see. And you just happen to give this valuable antique to your traveling partner, out of the kindness of your heart."

"For self-defense, actually," Book replied. "On a world such as this...you understand."

Mal smiled. "I surely do." _Friend, you're a liar, but if you can get me some cash, I really don't think I care at this point._

"Good. We understand each other." Book leaned back. "Now, I'm looking for passage to Alderaan, if your ship is fast."

"Fast ship, huh? You never heard of _Serenity_?"

The hermit shook his head. "Should I have?"

Mal thought about it. "Probably not. What's the cargo?"

"Only passengers. Myself, the boy and girl, two droids...no questions asked."

Mal and Jayne both chuckled. "What, some kind of local trouble?"

"Let's just say we'd like to avoid any..._official_ entanglements, if you divine my meaning."

Mal did indeed. "Well, that's the real trick. You three have already attracted enough attention as it is. And that girl is off in her brainpan. Now, I've transported crazies before, and it's brought me a heap of trouble. You say she's not violent, but how do I know to believe you?" Simon's face flushed with what could have been anger. "So, what with docking fees, fuel costs, keepin' everything on the down-low, and hazard pay on account of her, it comes do about...twenty thousand, all in advance."

The boy spoke for the first time. "Twenty _thousand_? We could almost buy our own ship with that." The crew also looked incredulous at the vast sum. Mal hoped Book couldn't see their expressions, particularly Kaylee's dropped jaw.

"Well who's gonna fly it, kid? You?"

"I'm not such a bad pilot myself," Simon replied, his tone a touch defiant. "Shepherd, we don't need to sit here and—"

"He's a Shepherd, eh? I might have to charge an additional two thousand for that." That shut the kid's mouth.

Book only smiled gently. "We can pay you five thousand now...plus thirty when we reach Alderaan." Wash whistled, and Kaylee's jaw dropped still further.

"Thirty-five, eh?" Mal pondered for a few seconds. "Alright, Shepherd, you got yourselves a ship."

"I thought so. When do we leave?"

"Tonight, 7:00, Docking Bay 94." Book nodded.

Zoe cleared her throat. "Looks like someone's taken some interest in our new friends." She pointed to the door of the cantina, where several white-armored men were entering. "You three might want to use the back way."

"Come on, River," Simon told his sister, almost dragging his staring sister upright. The strange trio hustled towards the back door and exited. A few minutes later, the stormtroopers did the same.

Wash whooped quietly. "_Thirty-five thousand_? That's _more_ than we owe Niska!"

"Actually, it's short by about five thousand," Mal told him. "Interest rates and all. Still, not a bad bit of bargaining, if I do say so myself."

"That girl's not right," Jayne complained. "I don't want to wake up with a butcher knife buried in my chest."

"For that much money, she can stab me as much as she likes," Wash replied. "I'll even stab myself for her."

"And what is a Shepherd," Jayne continued, undeterred, "doin' with a gorram sword for self-defense 'stead of a blaster? Mal, you know as well I do he was lyin'."

"Didn't seem to stop you two from talking, did it?"

"I can talk to a man about guns and still not trust him."

Mal rolled his eyes. "They're passengers, they're paying well, and it's a nice, easy charter. We get 'em to Alderaan, they hand over the cash, we're off. End of story. Now Kaylee, Wash, I want you two to get on the mule and go back to _Serenity_, start prepping her for launch. Jayne, Zoe, you go with 'em."

"Where're you goin'?"

Mal lay back in his chair. "I," he told them, smirking, "am going to congratulate myself on my fine job of captaining and have a drink or two. See y'all later."

"_Sheh-sheh_, Cap'n," Kaylee said, rising. She paused a minute, thought. "Y'know, I'm actually gonna miss this place now."

Jayne shook his head. "Women."


	6. Chapter Four: First Strikes

IV: FIRST STRIKES

Inside the cold, gray, sterile meeting room, the Death Star's Leadership Council was, once again, squabbling amongst itself. The argument was along familiar lines: just how great a threat the so-called Rebel Alliance was to their ultimate weapon.

"Until this battle station is fully operational," whined Cassio Tagge, one of the triumvirate that commanded the weapon itself, "we are vulnerable! The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They are more dangerous than _you_ realize," he spat at the man directly across from him, Admiral Conan Antonio Motti, his equal and chief rival.

Motti sneered. "Perhaps these...what's the term..._Browncoats_ are dangerous to your Starfleet, Commander, _not_ to this battle station. We beat them in the Clone Wars, we'll beat them again."

"The Separatists did not have the support of the Senate," Tagge retorted. "But the Rebellion will _continue_ to gain even _more_—"

A new voice, high, smug, and cold, spoke. "The Imperial Senate is no longer any concern of ours, gentlemen," spoke Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, the true head of the battle station's leadership, as he entered the conference room, flanked by his massive, black-robed crony Vader. "I have just received word that the Emperor has given the order to dissolve the Senate completely. The last remnants of the old Republic have been swept away." A satisfied smirk formed on his skeletal face.

Tagge, always one for a debate, gasped slightly. "But—that's _impossible_! How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy?"

"The regional governors now have direct control over their territories," Tarkin replied, his smile growing wider. He very well should be happy, Motti thought, as a Grand Moff governed dozens of systems. Motti himself had been expecting this change for some time, and relished the chance for the military to act without being reined in by greedy and corrupt politicians, as it had been during the Clone Wars. Yes, the Republic had needed to die.

Tarkin continued. "_Fear_ will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station."

Tagge was not to be easily deterred. "And what of the Alliance? If they have obtained a complete technical layout of this station, it is possible, however unlikely—" he paused to throw a glare at Motti—"that they may find a weakness, and exploit it!"

Vader spoke, his rumbling voice slightly irritated. _Good, Motti though_t; _he should be irritated at his lack of competence. How that man has advanced so far I'll never know. _"The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands."

Motti spoke up again, focusing on Tagge. "Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what techinical data they've obtained! _This station is now the ultimate power in the universe_!" He settled back into his chair. "I suggest we use it."

Before Tagge could butt in again, Vader gave a retort. "Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."

Motti chuckled. The Force, the Force, how the Jedi and Sith alike went on about it! "Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion hasn't helped you conjure up the stolen data the Rebels escaped with, and has not given you clairvoyance enough to find their hidden fort—"

He stopped. The room had been cold when he came in, but he was growing rather hot. Was it stuffy in here? He was having trouble breathing...

He looked at Vader, and saw that the Sith's hand was raised and making a grasping motion. _No...no, that can't be it...my collar is just a bit too tight, that's all..._

Motti tugged at his collar. It did no good. His breath was coming in small, labored gasps now; his throat was almost entirely constricted. _It can't be...it_ can't_ be..._

Vader's voice sounded as if it were coming up from the bottom of a deep well, and Motti could hardly hear it over the sudden ringing in his ears. _I find your lack of faith disturbing._

_Enough of this. Vader, release him!_

_ As you wish..._

The unrelenting pressure suddenly, mercifully stopped, and Motti sagged forward, gasping and clutching his throat, overwhelmed by the sudden intake of air.

Tarkin spoke as if Vader had done no more than badly insult Motti. "This bickering is pointless! Now, Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke!"

Motti massaged his throat, staring at the black-masked man before him. _Who _is _this man?_

— — — —

Mal was done with his two Andoan ales, and was about to get up and assure Adlai Niska that business was, once again, running smoothly, when a distinctly ugly silhouette fell in front of him and he felt cold metal press against his chest. "Going somewhere, Reynolds?" asked the bug-eyed, fringe-scalped Rodian as he forced Mal back into his seat.

"Yes, Greedo," Mal replied with the air of a parent speaking to a particularly thick-headed child. "In fact, I was just on my way to go see your boss. Tell Niska I've got his money."

"Too late," replied the alien, gesticulating violently with his piece. "You should have paid him when you had the chance. Mr. Niska has put a price on your head so large that every hunter in the galaxy will be looking for you." The Rodian snickered. " I'm lucky I found you first."

Mal growled. "Yeah, except this time, I've got the money."

"If you give it to me, I might forget I found you."

"I don't have it _with_ me! Tell Niska—"

"Niska's through with you! He has no use for a smuggler who drops his shipment at the first sign of an Imperial crusier."

Mal sighed. Slowly, surely, as he talked, he began to slide his blaster out of its holster—it was carefully concealed under the table of course. Greedo hadn't thought to check him for weapons. "Seems to me that it was after certain words and certain laser blasts had been exchanged that I dropped that spice. Even I get boarded sometimes. Do you think I had a choice?"

The blaster was out now. Mal disengaged the safety, praying that Greedo wouldn't hear the click. "Tell that to Mr. Niska. He may only take your ship."

This wouldn't be ending peacefully, Mal decided. "Over my dead body."

"That's the idea. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

"Yeah, I'll bet you have—"

There was a flash of red light, a smell of ozone, and the alien's head exploded.

Wait. His _head_?

Mal looked up and saw the blaster-toting woman coming towards him, her shotgun still trained on the alien's corpse. "Zoe, what are you—_I_ wanted to do that!"

"He was two feet away from you, Sir" she replied. "He wouldn't have missed."

"Yeah, but I would have shot first!" He shook his head. "Hey, what are you doing here, anyway? I told you—"

"I had a feeling something like this would happen. Decided to stick around." She bent down to check the corpse. "If it makes you feel any better, you _did_ shoot him. I just got him a bit faster."

Mal stood, tossed a few coins at Wuher. "Sorry about the mess." He gestured at Zoe, and they headed for the exit. "You know, I get very few attempts to be a dashing gunslinger in my line of work, and I don't appreciate it when others mess those opportunities up for me."

"You know what? If it means that much to you, Sir, we'll say you shot first. And I'll never try to save your life again."

"Good. Now let's go reassure Mr. Niska of our good intentions." Mal muttered to himself as they left. "It was me.I would have shot first."

"Whatever you say, Sir."


End file.
